


For Want of Words

by Providentia67



Category: Dororo (2019), Dororo (Anime)
Genre: Comfort, Families of Choice, Friendship, post episode 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 10:13:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17743976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Providentia67/pseuds/Providentia67
Summary: It is in the relative calm of night that Hyakkimaru has a chance to finally slow down and begin to process how completely his world has changed in just a few short days. To process everything he has gained, and everything he did not even know he could lose.Wanting, he has learned, is a terrible thing.





	For Want of Words

The little soul -’Dororo’, he must continue to remind himself- is holding him.  Has not stopped since Hyakkimaru had first taken notice of his tired, faltering steps and brought their endless trek to a halt for the night.  Hyakkimaru can feel him as Dororo's’ small fingers clench around his prosthetic arm in the midst of sleep. That and an echo of the tremors that wrack the little -Dororo from whatever things plague his unconscious mind.  

It is something Hyakkimaru is newly familiar with.  What were before just aimless sensations of foreboding easy enough to accept and let go, in just a few days have become the roaring screams of things Hyakkimaru has no words for.  Horrible, evil sounds of demons and then from nowhere the memory will come of the soul who sounded so unspeakably sad to his virgin ears. Hyakkimaru knows that the creatures that appear in the mind when the body is at rest cannot be easily fought. And worse yet, in this Hyakkimaru cannot face them on behalf of his little soul.

Hyakkimaru shifts against the tree he is resting on so that he can get a better angle to wrap his free prosthetic arm around the child’s shoulders and hold him close.  Perhaps the cold is part of what is troubling Dororo and this will help to soothe him. Hyakkimaru finds he wants to comfort his little soul, whose fire greyed so horribly not more than a few hours ago.

Wanting, he has learned, is a terrible thing. 

“… Mio …”  

Dororo flinches in Hyakkimaru’s grip and he snaps his mouth shut, eye twitching at the frustrated noise  he cannot help making as he does so. He looks down and hopes that he did not wake Dororo, but the little soul settles quickly and he lets himself ease.  

Mio, with the voice that did not hurt, had seemed to understand his reluctance to use this new part of him.  Hyakkimaru had wanted his voice with an impatient desire he’d never felt before. He’d wanted to be able to communicate with the souls around him in a way that hadn’t mattered to him in the days when all he had was his ability to sense demons and the one who called himself ‘Jukai’ to help him.  But now that he has it, the sound of his own voice grates in Hyakkimaru’s head even louder than the already roaring world. And even when he tries, he has found he does not know how to make the words he needs. Besides, it was all for nothing, and Hyakkimaru lets his head fall back from looking down on Dororo and rest against the trunk of the tree.

A low, keening sound appears and it takes a minute for Hyakkimaru to register the vibrations in his throat, the tightness in his jaw, and realize it is coming from him.  There is worry that the noise will wake Dororo but he cannot stop. He sounds like the soul in the rain. Hyakkimaru lifts his prosthetic from around the little soul’s shoulders to press it tight over his mouth and stifle the sound.  It works, but only just.

A hollow sensation tugs at the edges of his prosthetic eyes that Hyakkimaru, if he had time, would wonder at.  Like something that ought to be there, that needed to be there, isn’t. Given just how much the demons had taken from him, the chances are good that he _is_ missing something.  But for all that his desire to reclaim his body has only grown since his journey began, he cannot bring himself to care just then. There is pain -he knows what that means all too well now- coming from deep in his chest, but he has no wounds.  The injuries he suffered from the ghoul and the demon have all since healed, but the pain persists and he does not understand.

Dororo stirs beside him and all of a sudden the little soul’s voice joins the cacophony of the night.  Hyakkimaru can guess at the meaning of perhaps half of what Dororo says and only ever really understands when he hears his name, “Hyakkimaru-” which rings _right_ in his soul.  But a lack of reciprocation doesn’t halt the little soul in his muttering as he tugs with both arms at the hand Hyakkimaru has pressed over his mouth.  

The little soul’s fire is still grey and morose, but some of its light has returned and when he finally manages to force Hyakkimaru to lower his arm Dororo launches himself against his chest and wraps him in a fierce embrace.  His voice softens and, perhaps out of some knowledge that very little of what he says is understood, he begins a mantra of mostly just repeating Hyakkimaru’s name.

“Hyakkimaru,” Dororo presses his face against Hyakkimaru’s shoulder and the cloth between them becomes wet from something coming out of the little soul’s eyes.  “Hyakkimaru, it’s okay. It’ll be okay Hyakkimaru.”

The sensation is very much like that time when he’d been filled with a frenzied desire to slay the dull souls around him who’d stood by as Mio’s fire dimmed and faded and Dororo had held him back.  But this time there is no desperate urgency, no cloying fear directed at Hyakkimaru himself. Just deep, deep sadness.

They stay that way for a time, and eventually the keening stops and the pressure in Hyakkimaru’s throat eases, the closeness of Dororo’s soul a balm to his invisible wound.  But the words don’t falter, and Hyakkimaru just lets himself be consumed in trying to listen and understand. He hears his name, knows the rest are words of comfort meant to provide solace just as Mio’s song had, but there is something else too.  A word that sometimes takes the place of his name but is said with the same inflection and warmth. A word that sets Dororo's soul to flickering with greater strength whenever Hyakkimaru answers to it.

“Hyakkimaru.  Brother, it’s okay.  It’ll be okay. Hyakkimaru.”  Hyakkimaru does not know what the word means, but he hopes that it is something good.  Not like when he’d heard the strange priest say his name in conjunction with ‘monster’ and ‘beast’.  Words said with the same hardness and dimming of the soul that comes with talk of demons and ghouls. Dororo had been frightened when the priest had spoken those things, and so was Hyakkimaru.

He’d never killed anything but demons and ghouls before that day.  And never for want of bloodshed. He slays monsters because it has to be done, because he ought to reclaim what was stolen from him.  It’s ghouls and demons and those with darkened souls who kill other humans because they desire it. So, what does that make Hyakkimaru now?  He’d killed those men for taking Mio away and the other small souls who followed her, not because he had to. But because he wanted to. It is a question he does not know the words to ask, and one he isn’t sure he wants the answers to.

Acting on the same instinct that had told Hyakkimaru to hold Mio as the last of her soul faded away he lifts his arms to embrace the little soul back.  Using full advantage of his prosthetic hands this time to hold Dororo tight. The little fingers ball into fists against his back.

“Hyakkimaru, don’t go away.” Dororo’s voice trembles.

“…Bro-,” he tries because the sound is unlike anything he has made before.  “... brother... ?” He says it mostly in question but also because he wants it to comfort Dororo.  See, he thinks to the little soul, I’m trying to understand. The boy stiffens in his arms and Hyakkimaru hugs him tighter, worried that somehow he’s frightened him.  “…Dororo,” he says this time, because the sounds are a little easier to form and he knows it’s the little soul’s name.

Something light and jovial comes from the little soul and Dororo pulls back suddenly to place his hands on either side of Hyakkimaru’s face.  Hyakkimaru is relieved beyond what he can express to find that the little soul is back to the white blaze he has become accustomed to.

“Dororo,” he says again, more confident this time, and feels a deep satisfaction in the way the little soul flares happily and begins to chatter away.

“You said it again!”  There is more, but none of it Hyakkimaru can understand so he just sits with his back against the tree and his little soul standing before him.  Two small palms pressed on either of his cheeks. He interrupts Dororo’s loud voice every now and again by saying, “Dororo,” or “Brother,” and lets the little bursts of happiness those words cause in the little soul ease the pain in his chest until it becomes only a low ache that can easily be ignored.

They spend the rest of the night like that, with Hyakkimaru occasionally inserting a new word to his repertoire as he hears Dororo repeat them enough to mimic.  And though the little soul’s voice is still the loudest thing he’s heard come from a human besides himself, at least it drowns out everything else around him. And Hyakkimaru decides he’d rather hear the little soul and know Dororo is with him while he learns to adjust to this new sense, than go without.

“Hyakkimaru!” When morning finally comes and it is time to move on, Dororo takes his hand, as has become the little soul’s habit, and points the way.  “Let’s go this way!”

There is a ghost of a song in Hyakkimaru’s ears as he turns away from the mountain they’ve come from to face Dororo, but he lets it go to listen to the little soul’s words.  “Brother, let’s go!” The hand in his tugs at his prosthetic.

“Okay…” Hyakkimaru says, stepping forward.  “Okay, Dororo.”


End file.
